Watching His Movements With Great Diligence Poem by Charles Chaim Wax

Since the weather turned warmer
Robert waits on the sidewalk
near our building
so what could I do but give him
a bit of chit-chat saying, “How ya doing? ”
“They want me out, Bernstein,
but I don’t wanna move.
This is my home.”
Then tilting his body to the left
and lowering himself
stared up, bobbing, shifting,
grey hair eating up his dye job.
“The landlord told me
‘If you flush your toilet
more than once you’re evicted.’”
“That legal? ”
“The woman on the fourth floor
hasn’t paid rent for six months…”
”Fourth floor, you’re on the sixth.”
”Says I keep up her half the night.”
Swaying now, excited, eyes wide open
two weeks ago had surgery for cataracts
suddenly very still said, “Bernstein, I wanna
ask you a personal question: After a crap
you only flush once? ”
Not answering asked one of my own,
“How many times, on average? ”
“Five, six. I need a clean bowl.”
Ah, the magic perfection of porcelain
so white and gleaming and without stain
here no spot for ruin to rot the heart.
Staring now. Yearning for that number
to give sustenance to his soul.
Well, this is what happens
to those
who live without love.
Finally: “Two.”
Then: a sigh, a shinning smile.